


Death & Co

by colebotanica (dontrushme)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontrushme/pseuds/colebotanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots, focusing on the relationship between Inquisitor Cadash and Dorian. It addresses Dorian's alcoholism and how he deals with the abuse and trauma of his childhood, as well as how Cadash deals with his own demons, and how that effects their relationship.<br/>The title is from a Sylvia Plath poem of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Who Never Looks Up

Cadash sat up in his bed, legs crossed over the covers as he attempted to read. Cadash usually fell asleep quickly and easily on returning to Skyhold, surrounded by thick stone walls and wrapped in fluffy warm blankets. Tonight was different; he couldn’t sleep, much as he tried. Instead he had opened a book, but for every paragraph he took in, he spent ten minutes wrapped in his thoughts.

  
He had returned from Val Royeaux earlier that evening with Dorian. It had been weeks since either of them had spent an evening alone; even when the Inquisitor was particularly busy, he made time for at least a goodnight kiss, or a goodnight chat, or a long, goodnight discussion on Tevinter politics that kept them awake ‘til an ungodly hour, followed by a goodnight makeout session. It was a comfortable routine. Now, however, it seemed that Dorian had been too offended by Cadash’s actions to pay any thought to their nightly habits.

  
I was only trying to help, Cadash thought angrily. His mind kept replaying the moment where Dorian told Ponchard that they were not even friends: the words felt like a knife to the chest. The set of Dorian’s lips, the anger in his eyes… Cadash knew that he had been lashing out but it hurt nonetheless, maybe even more, knowing that his lover felt the need to keep him away.

  
Cadash sighed and placed his book to the side, leaning his head back against the intricately-carved wooden headboard. His chest felt hollow. He stood up, stretched, put on his coat, and went to sit in the garden with the hope that the cold mountain air might at least clear his mind.

  
Cadash found a stone bench when he reached the slightly insulated, moonlit courtyard. It was cold against his ass and left him shifting uncomfortably. He pulled his legs up onto the bench as well and shut his eyes, a shiver working its way through his body. He let his thoughts engulf him – his loneliness, his anger, and his concern for his human lover. The idiot won’t let me help him, Cadash thought, frustration wrinkling his brow. Dorian of House Pavus was, of course, too proud to allow even those closest to him to give any assistance. Didn’t he see that Cadash wanted to help?

  
Wrapped up in his coat and his thoughts, he didn’t notice the light footsteps on the heavy stone. A familiar throat-clearing noise pulled him out of his reverie; Cadash looked up and saw Dorian, his sweeping brows pressed together in hesitant concern.

  
“Why, you’ll freeze to death out here, Inquisitor.”

  
Cadash turned away, but didn’t object when Dorian came to sit next to him. The two sat in silence for hours, months, weeks, the moments melting into an endless stream. The dark garden rustled, as wind blew through the leaves of the carefully cultivated herbs and bushes.

  
The near-silence was broken again as Dorian turned. “Inquisitor, I…”

  
Cadash turned as well, meeting Dorian’s eyes. They still held the resentment and anger of that afternoon in Val Royeaux, but it had dulled, the elegant lines of Dorian’s face softened. Cadash couldn’t take it.

  
“Why can’t you trust me, Dorian!” he exclaimed, his frustration welling up and spilling out, like angry red blood out of a fresh wound. “I just want to help you, I want to- I want to be there for you! And you won’t let me.”

  
Dorian’s shoulders stiffened, and he looked away. “I can’t be in your debt, Inquisitor. You’re so… well…” He sighed, then turned back, fire in his eyes. “You’re so good! And I’m… an evil Tevinter mage, hardly a good fit for you. Have you heard people talk? They say I’m taking advantage of you, and what if they’re right? You could give me anything I could ever want, Inquisitor. How do you know I’m not just using you for my own nefarious purposes?”

  
The fire in Dorian’s eyes quickly caught in Cadash’s chest, and he crushed his lips against Dorian’s. The mage let out a startled noise in the back of his throat before his eyes slid shut, the inferno dulling to glowing hot embers. They melted against each other. Dorian’s hands sliding around the back of his lover’s head, fingers running through long red hair. Cadash circled Dorian’s waist with his goosebumped arms, warming himself in their passion.

  
Dorian pulled away abruptly. “Stop trying to distract me.”

  
Cadash chuckled. “Dorian, you’re a terrible liar. I trust you.”

  
As Cadash leaned back in, Dorian placed a hand on his chest. “I- I love you. I adore you.” Cadash laughed against Dorian’s neck, alternating between pressing it with kisses and whispering worshipful Dwarven phrases into his fire-hot skin.

  
Dorian turned his head, baring more of his neck. He shivered when Cadash’s lips tugged gently on his earlobe, whispering his love into the shell of Dorian’s ear; his lips were suddenly otherwise occupied as Dorian pulled him in for another kiss.


	2. The Scald Scar of Water

Sometimes the ache in his chest was too much. Usually he could bear it, look the other way, ignore it, but sometimes the hurt washed over him in waves and he couldn't do anything but let himself drown. 

When this happened, he would seek out the quietest corner of Skyhold he could find and let it swallow him. 

The Inquisitor found him one such night – he'd stolen a ridiculous amount of liquor from the stores and drunk through two bottles, another smashed on the floor. Dorian himself slumped on the flagstones, his back against the wall with a fourth bottle in his shaking fingers. It was a miracle he was still alive, let alone conscious – but as the Inquisitor approached, Dorian's eyes slid open. 

"Dorian," he whispered, taking the bottle from his lover's hand. "Please. What's happened?"

Dorian smiled and looked up at the Inquisitor with hooded eyelids. He reached up and tugged at the Inquisitor's collar, smirking viciously at no one at all. 

The Inquisitor grabbed Dorian's wandering hands and held them in front of him. "What's wrong, Dorian? You haven't done this in a while." 

Dorian's smirk twisted and he ripped his hands away. The numbness of the alcohol bubbled in his chest. "My father wrote again." He renewed his effort to remove the Inquisitor's clothes, this time ripping open the clasps, managing to pull open two before his hands were trapped again. 

"You're drunk," the Inquisitor reminded his lover, standing up and pulling Dorian with him. He wrapped an arm around Dorian's waist to keep him propped up before practically dragging the man to his own quarters. Dorian rarely slept there these days, but the Inquisitor let him sober up on nights like these in his own room. 

The Inquisitor lay Dorian down on the bed, the other man seemingly having given up his struggle for freedom. As the Inquisitor leaned over him to wrap him in fluffy blankets, Dorian suddenly grabbed the back of the Inquisitor's head with one hand, his ass with the other, and pulled him into a sloppy drunken kiss. The other man pulled back quickly. The smell of hard liquor surrounded them both and made the Inquisitor's head spin. Dorian's head had been spinning for the past hour. 

The Inquisitor pushed Dorian's hands away and was shocked when the other man’s face crumpled. 

His words slurred by tears and two bottles of Fereldan liquors – the second bottle had tasted like death – Dorian turned away. "Nobody wants me."

The Inquisitor's brow furrowed and he leaned in. "What? That's not true, amatus." 

"My father doesn't want me... nobody wants me here... And now even you don't want me!" 

The Inquisitor sat next to Dorian on the bed and pulled him into his arms. "I love you. I want you here-- I need you here. But I'm not taking advantage of you when you've drunk half the wine cellar." He kissed Dorian on the side of his head and began to stand. Dorian's fingers tangled into his grey tunic. 

Dark, wet eyes met his. "Stay," Dorian whispered. "Please, I— I..." The Inquisitor smiled gently and pulled the covers around Dorian's shoulders.

"I'll be right here."

The exhausted mage's lips quirked at the corners and he slipped quickly into the blackout sleep of those whose body was more alcohol than blood. The Inquisitor pressed another kiss to Dorian's forehead and curled up next to him. He would never allow Dorian to wake up alone again. 


End file.
